Hallelujah
by MagnusPr1m3
Summary: AU. Tony Stark had everything. Then he had nothing after a certain god came along. Now he doesn't know what to do anymore. He's plagued by nightmares of vibrant green eyes and a sickly sweet smile, the feel of a hand around his neck, of air rushing up around him. What is he to do when his nightmare appears before him, lonely save for the company of his brother? Eventual Frostiron.


**A/N: So, I got the idea for this from being on tumblr too much and rp-ing frostiron with a friend of mine. Eventually, the song Hallelujah (I prefer Imogen Heaps version, or the one from Shrek) sort of represented our muses relationship. So, for obvious resasons, this is dedicated to my Loki, Dalyce. I will definitely be updating this frequently, because OMG, it gives me so many feels and is perfection.**

**I do not own the characters, sadly.**

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**Hallelujah**

Days like this were what really got to him; days filled with monotony and loneliness drove him insane. Days where there was no work to be done, no parties to prepare for, or any threats to be defeated were the worst. It was on these days that Anthony Edward Stark wallowed in the ocean of self-loathing that was his subconscious. On these days, with nothing to occupy his time or distract his ever wandering thoughts to stray down a bad path, that Tony would succumb to the call of his long time best friend.

Scotch.

Tony would drink for hours on end, not once worrying about the consequences. Hangovers were a constant companion to his mornings, and not nearly as much of a nuisance as they used to be. People had already seen him make a drunken fool of himself enough times that the media was not immediately alerted to his actions. So long as the genius stayed in the penthouse apartment of Stark Tower, he was safe.

Knowing this all, Tony went to retrieve a bottle of his favorite liquid forgetfulness at noon that day. No one was there to scold him for beginning to drink at noon, nor would he have listened to them if they did. He downed his first glass in a matter of minutes, not bothering to wait long before drinking another. About five- or perhaps six, Tony did not know or care- more glasses followed the first two within two hours as Tony sulked in the main room of the penthouse. Yet, no matter how much he drank, or how fast, that deep seated self-hatred did not waver in the slightest. They lurked there in the shadows of his thoughts, whispering harsh words into his drunken mind.

At nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, Tony gave up on pouring the glasses after missing it by an extreme amount. When the scotch had all been chugged down, he grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose to chase it with. The combination in his body began to effectively numb his mind. He could not feel a damn thing, much to his pleasure. He couldn't even hear JARVIS as the AI tried to talk Tony out of the next bottle of random liqueur he grabbed. No one would ever be able to pull him up from the dismal pit he had thrown himself into.

Not seeing an end to this whole affair anytime soon, JARVIS found it to be in the best interest of his creator to call the SHIELD medical team, thus alerting Director Fury and the other Avengers as well. He urged them to hurry as he watched on, Tony's eyes drooping shut and breathing slow. JARVIS could tell that the human's alcohol content level in his blood was way too high, and told the hurrying medics once they arrived that Tony was in danger of alcohol poisoning. In danger of death.

Tony's body could not handle that alcohol anymore. He hadn't gotten drunk in so long after Pepper left. And here he was, two empty bottles of scotch and an alcohol induced coma later, being rushed to the SHIELD medical ward.

. . .

Nightmares had plagued him constantly, and he could not escape the fear. So, he began to drink again. He stayed far away from the windows, lurking in the shadows or deep within his lab, refusing to eat or sleep for almost weeks at a time. He was hospitalized more than once, for varying reasons, be it breakdowns or now trying to drink himself to death. They already had a room ready for him when they brought him on board the helicarrier.

They kept him locked up tight, much tighter than they originally planned. It was his own fault that they upped the security around him, of course. He had shattered a mirror after a particularly bad panic attack. He did not like looking back on what he had then done with the largest glass shard that was left. Clint found him- stupid Legolas, he thought- and had rushed him to Medical. He was held there for three more weeks, making his stay at SHIELD to then be a whole three and a half months at the time.

He had quite a few visitors during those weeks; Bruce, Steve, Clint, Natasha, and Thor even. Then there was Fury, who looked rather saddened by the turn of events. Tony had scowled at the piteous, one-eyed look the man had given him, spitting at him to make him leave. Maria stopped by quickly to tell him that Pepper had tried calling, several times apparently. (He knew that and had purposefully ignored the calls.) A few other agents from SHIELD stopped by, as well as Rhodey, although Tony's long-time friend's visit was short-lived.

He was stuck in medical for another two weeks after he horded his medication and tried to take it all at once.

When Tony was finally let out of Medical, he was stuck with daily visits to the ship psychiatrist and with Captain motherfucking America as his roommate. He had turned around when given this news and simply walked right back into Medical and sat down, scarred arms crossed over his chest in defiance. Bruce coaxed him out, not without any difficulty, and Tony suddenly found himself with four more roommates. He watched numbly as they moved his stuff into a long unused barracks toward the other end of the hellicarrier where the Avengers would all be staying together from then on. That was not at all what he wanted. He wanted to be alone. He needed it.

Tony made it rough for everyone. He went through their stuff, shouted, threw things, got extremely drunk (no one knew how he got the alcohol in the first place, but he managed to somehow.), and often got physically violent when one of them would usher him off to bed. Eventually, Steve and Thor took it upon themselves to restrain him, neither wanting Bruce, Clint or Natasha to attempt to do so. It was not an easy job, Tony made sure of that. He refused to remain still, thrashing about in whoever's hold he was in that night until they would pin him down and loom over him with an angered look on their face.

He needed that, as well, in some sick twisted way. He needed to see them become as infuriated and disappoint with him as he was with himself. He needed that reminder that he was not a good person, that he was a burden. He wanted the pain of a slightly tight grip on his mutilated wrists, craved it so badly. Deep down, where his sanity was buried beneath self-loathing, Tony knew this was wrong. He should not wish for those things, to force them to come about, like he did. That did not stop him, though.

He did not really talk to the psychiatrist on his visits, other than to make some snide remark. He sat there, tight-lipped and stubborn as a mule for the whole hour he was to be there before abruptly getting up and rushing out. He begrudgingly took his medication every morning under the watchful eye of Steve, who had apparently been reporting all of Tony's actions to the psychiatrist. Tony learned this when he went to a session and the man began reading from a list almost every single incident he had caused since the Avengers were shoved in those old barracks together. Hot fear ripped through him and he stood up so fast that his chair went toppling backwards.

"No," He said softly before dashing out as fast as he could, blind panic clouding his thoughts. He pushed past people, ripping himself free of their grasp and stumbling on in whatever direction his feet carried him. He wasn't stopped until he ran smack into a muscled chest, _Thor_, he acknowledged subconsciously as he fell flat on his ass. He struggled to pull the wind back into his lungs, to quit his shaking and stop those few tears from escaping. He needed to get back up before they could catch him, even though he was practically caught already.

"Man of Iron!" Thor yelled, startled by the other. He reached down and pulled Tony up by his arm, standing up his now thrashing colleague. "Anthony, my friend, calm yourself! What happened?" Tony did not respond, would not. He pushed at the other, hitting at him as best he could but there was no fighting a god. "_Anthony_!"

The sharp yell of his name broke through Tony's panic, his eyes going wide and he stilled. His breaths were ragged, both from the running and then the air getting knocked from his lungs by crashing into the other. His body still quivered, but he was calmer, his mind gaining a semblance of stability. "They know. Theyknowtheyknowtheyknow," There went that stability, his words running together, his head shaking vigorously. "I need to go. I need to work, Thor, let me go. I- I've got to work. Thor, please."

"So pathetic."

That voice. Tony's eyes darted around, finally catching a glimpse of the person behind Thor and _nonononononononononononono_. He was able to yank his arm out of the other's hold and scramble backwards. "No. No, you aren't- No."

Loki smirked, lips drawing into an awkward smile, hindered by the stitching along the sides of his face a bit. "Pleasure to see you again, Anthony."

. . .

Loki was confined, for the most part. Although, when one possesses magic, they cannot truly be confined. He did not stray much, however, staying on the helicarrier for the most part. He could often be found staring out of a window to the world below, sometimes even watching a camera feed pulled up on one of the many monitors of the cities nearby. He did not speak often, although this could very well be considered a blessing, for words were his weapon. When he did not speak, he was not _quite_ as dangerous.

Clint did not go anywhere he suspected the god may be. His fellow avengers often had to drag him from the air vents around dinner, lunch, or even bedtime. His bow was also confiscated after an arrow nicked Loki in the shoulder one day. He tried to claim that it was not him, but the gleam of triumph in his eyes and the fact that the only person on the ship authorized to have a bow outside of the range was him contradicted him. The surveillance footage for the few minutes surrounding the incident was miraculously gone.

Tony went near catatonic after the other appeared. He ate less, slept less, and he did not even speak, which everyone had thought an impossible feat for the engineer to complete. He did not return to see the psychiatrist, no matter how many threats of never leaving were thrown at him. He just kind of floated through life, not really living or dead. Tony just _existed._ And it was quite troubling for all of them.

The other Avengers did their best to keep Tony away from Loki, and vice versa. It was not too hard to do, of course. They generally split into three groups; Steve and Bruce handled Tony, Natasha searched for their somewhat-rogue archer, and Thor occupied his brother. It worked brilliantly, for the most part. The only hitch in that plan came when they finally had to go on a mission.

Leaving both Loki and Tony behind.

They prayed that when they returned, the helicarrier would still be intact.


End file.
